


After Anthem

by TheProphetChuck (HikaruDark)



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruDark/pseuds/TheProphetChuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The games bring out the most primal of instincts. Hunger and blood lust are far from the only needs that come to surface among the career. (Very short chapters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Keep up, _Lover boy_." Cato grunts between kisses, or what he _thinks_ are kisses at least.

His lips bruised the nervous pair before him in a violent haste, still fired up from his last kill. Blood and breath hot alike, he slammed the shorter boy into the tree's sturdy trunk and wasted no time in getting started.

Peeta only offers a soft curse in response, saving every moment of freedom for air.

Cato likes this, the mixture of submission and urgency that could only come from a reluctant participant, almost as much as he likes the taste of blood still on Peeta's tongue from one of the day's many encounters. 

'Had I done that?' He thinks as he goes for the hem of the boy's jacket.

 

"No, it's cold." Peeta murmurs in protest. 

"It's fine." Cato hisses, pulling up and exposing a bit of skin before the smaller hands slip between his arms. "It's not that cold."

"It's freezing." Peeta whispered. He tries to readjust but fails, deciding instead to cover what he can with his arms.

 

Cato can't help but laugh at what he decides is a display of defiance. The averted eyes, keeping that thick back hard pressed to the tree behind him, and doing something positively awkward with his feet. He can't believe it. They were in the games, wereliving reminders of mortality to all citizens in Panem currently watching- and even those not watching. Standing in the dark now, still stained with blood and sweat, much of which didn't even belong to them, this 'Twelve' somehow found a way to feel embarrassed.

 

"Scared?"

"Shut up." The sharpness in his voice verifies Cato's theory.

"Worried Mommy and Daddy'll see?"

"Screw you."

 

Peeta attempts to slip away but doesn't make it more than an inch forward before Cato's hand shoves him firmly back into the hard bark.

"Don't move."

To his slight surprise the boy remains still, arms poised at his sides, looking away with the most pitiful expression. Cato doesn't like it, not that he cared much for feelings but scowls weren't attractive. Not on this face. He sighs, closing the distance between them again, kissing the side of Peeta's neck. As he trails the skin down to the line where the dirt and clean skin meet, he looks back up into the nervous eyes he knew had to be focused on him again.

"Put your hands on my chest." He whispers.

 

This brings a sudden heat to Peeta's cheeks and he thanks the Gamemakers for observing the night hours because he knows he must be blushing now.

"W-what?"

"You'll look smaller." Cato says, lips still grazing his skin. "Put your hands on my chest, they can't see what my back covers."

Peeta gets it now and quickly presses both palms to the broad torso before him and is somewhat disappointed in himself for not being repulsed. The initial attraction had come when he'd first gotten a good look at the Career back in training, but this was a perspective he hadn't considered. Cato's chest is well sculpted, hard but smooth and much longer than his own. It isn't long before he's exploring just _how much_ longer and is startled by the sudden shudder he feels under his fingers. He looks up at once, certain he's done something to irk his captor.

"Sorry-" The rest of his apology is swallowed, in part by himself, as Cato's tongue ventures wildly into his mouth again much to his reluctant delight.

" _That_ needs to come off."

Peeta nods this time and grants Cato the necessary room to pull the jacket over his head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mainly Peeta pov, Cato pov soon to follow. Minor hinted obscenity nearing the end.

Peeta bit back a grunt, willing himself to loathe the touch, or at least find a way to pretend he did. This had officially crossed the line of incidental happening  into the spotlight of deliberate action and he was all too aware of how he'd somehow managed to make things worse for himself. Worse than being in the games, worse than simply dying by the hand of someone no more than two years older- or five years younger. He now had the matter of his honor to weigh in the balance of things.  
Would he die soon? By way of the elements or an impatient Career? Maybe he'd go quickly, skip the pain and begging and go straight for the end. His suffering would be over but his parents were sure to take it on. He sighed audibly.   
_His parents._  
The others were asleep, even Katniss would be heavy lidded at this point, wherever she was, but all of District 12 was awake and watching. In fact, he was certain he could feel the  entirety of Panem's attention on them. As, surely, the cameras wouldn't want to shift gears for this.

"Move your arm." 

He shifted his shoulder, baring his neck without objection.  
Cato filled the empty space quickly with his lips, first kissing, then gnawing on the sensitive skin.   
Peeta hissed but held his place, opting instead to grab the other's coat, as much as he could fit in his hand.  
Then another, equally terrifying, horror crossed his mind.   
The possibility that he might not die. That he might somehow escape, maybe while he took his watch shift or while they were working on bringing down another tribute. Hole up in a burrow someplace where no one would think to look and wait the games out. And then what? Go home the victor to a world of people who watched him give in to a weakness so absurd, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be pardoned for?  
He jumped at the sudden tugging at his pants.  
"C-Cato?"  
There was no answer, just more pulling.  
Thoughts of the future, or lack of one, could wait. Would be's and maybes were nothing compared to this.  
"Please, don't." He rasped.

"Don't what?"  
Cato's eyes snapped back to Peeta's trembling chin. 'What the hell could he be on about now?' He thought, waiting for an answer.

Peeta's cheeks came to life with heat, reddening at an uncomfortable pace.  
"Don't. …Please…" He huffed, looking to the side. "Are you gonna put.. you know, up there?" He stammered.

"Put what?"

"You know what."

Cato laughed then, an actual laugh, not one of his practiced snickers. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath the other couldn't quite pick up.  
Peeta just barely made out a word he'd heard only one other time in his own district. It was an obscenity he was sure, and by the way Cato spat it he knew he didn't like being called a 'fagg-'

"I am not putting anything _up there_."


End file.
